


the tragic fate of unrequited devotion

by ellarree



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Love Never Dies - Lloyd Webber, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Alcohol, Choking, Createcember 2020, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, M/M, No Smut, Requited Unrequited Love, Sad with a Happy Ending, Unresolved Sexual Tension, rerik
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:47:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28061151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellarree/pseuds/ellarree
Summary: devil take the hindmost rewrite
Relationships: Raoul de Chagny/Erik | Phantom of the Opera
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	the tragic fate of unrequited devotion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [evangelistofstars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/evangelistofstars/gifts).



> Written for createcember day 13: Devotion

Raoul de Chagny sits in an almost-empty bar, shoulders slumped despondently. He is certain that Christine does not love him, that perhaps she never really did. A glass cup of rests in front of him, half filled with burning amber liquor and half stuffed with misguided guilt. 

The only other figure disrupting the emptiness of the gloomy bar speaks from behind the counter, refilling the Vicomte’s drink at the same time. “I must admit, I admire your devotion to your wife. You and I both know it is no simple matter to love one whose heart lies elsewhere.”

Raoul shakes upright, startled by the resonant speech echoing around him. He is uncertain of the voice’s meaning and unsure of its origin. Opening his mouth to reply, he gasps for breath as he feels a large, delicate hand grip his throat. The voice speaks again, directly behind his head: “confused, Monsieur le Vicomte? It is quite simple, really. Your wife, sweet songbird that she is, may have proclaimed love for you, even accepted your ring, but she always had eyes for another.”

The pressure on Raoul’s neck lessens, and he twists around, catching a glimpse of a stark white half-mask before those strong hands force his gaze forward again.  Why is he here, Raoul wonders,  in this shady tavern of depression? Surely he wouldn’t be here because of me. Breathing deeply in case the taller man tries to choke him again, Raoul ponders what he could possibly say, but is interrupted before making a decision.

“You are not acting confrontationally, Monsieur,” the imposing composer murmurs, his voice silky and carrying an unfamiliar undertone that Raoul cannot quite decipher. “Have you accepted the truth in my words?”

This is too far for the Vicomte to tolerate. “She never loved you,” Raoul retorts bitterly, “what with your twisted face and dark fantasies. Christine is too dependent on light and joy to ever be happy with a creature such as—“ That sinful grasp returns to his throat before he can finish his outburst, and Raoul gasps for breath. “I don’t recall mentioning Christine having any sort of affection for myself, nor the other way around — indeed, I vividly remember telling you how I too have experienced the tragic fate of bearing unrequited devotion for another — but perhaps you were too intoxicated at the time to properly comprehend my words?”

Again, the chokehold is loosened when he finishes speaking, but this time Raoul cannot form words, still reeling from the implications of the masked man’s words.

“Nothing to say, Monsieur le Vicomte? Perhaps I may be of assistance.”

Raoul has never felt so complete as he has in the past few minutes, listening to the alluring voice of Coney Island’s premier composer.  No— he has felt this way once before,  Raoul realized,  back in Paris when— something clicks into place, clarity falling over memories from a decade earlier. “We— neither of us ever...” Raoul trails off, voice going weak.

“Ever what, Monsieur?”

“My devotion to— oh, God, yours as well— we—“ Raoul breathes in deeply in a useless attempt to calm his racing heart. “Neither of us ever really  loved Christine, did we? It was always all to get closer to—“

“To me. And, I suppose I have no choice but to admit this, I feel the same.”

**Author's Note:**

> evangelistofstars asked me for rerik fluff and i wrote this instead. sorry not sorry. it’s fluff if you look at it from the right perspective


End file.
